


Falling

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Dubious Consent, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Loss of time, M/M, Manipulation, Nightmares, Seizures, Suicidal Thoughts, and will just suffers generally, hannibal catches feels when he did not expect to, of a kind - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal's plan changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night was cold; the ground was an unforgiving road surface, hard and icy like the frozen walls of a tomb. His tomb.

Will gazed around, barely focussing; he was sitting in the middle of a road somewhere. Trees were black, blotted darkness flecked with murky green, framing the edge of the road. It seemed to him that, if he dared to wander off the edges of the highway, that the darkness would swallow him up and devour him. He’d fall forever, plummeting endlessly.

He wondered if he was asleep or if he was awake. There seemed to be no way of telling. He glanced behind him, and a man stood there. Garrett Jacob Hobbs. His dead eyes stared ahead, past Will, and then he was gone. Will blinked. But the man did not return.

Asleep, then.

Will ran his finger idly down the yellow lines painted down the middle of the road, rocks and asphalt bumpy and uneven to the touch. The sensation seemed so real, and he wasn’t _quite_ convinced he was asleep; he could’ve been hallucinating. He just hoped he wasn’t sleepwalking.

He raised himself up slowly; at first he stumbled, legs tired, arms creaking in protest at the joints, and then… then, he was floating. He was being lifted. The black encircled him, and it came with warmth. The darkness didn’t let him fall; it held him. His eyes closed.

The black became tactile. A surface formed under him- it was solid, but soft. He dragged his hands through fur. He was sitting atop a beast, an animal of some kind. He knew it couldn’t have been one of his dogs. He looked down, and his fingers bunched in black fur. Stag horns were a vague shape in front of him, moving when the animal looked back and gave a snort. The breath from the animal clouded in the cold air, misting. Will breathed it in and smelt…

“Will.”

He smelt human. Soft, warm. Soap. Expensive aftershave. His fingers tightened in the fur. This had to be a dream. The surface under him moved restlessly, and he tried to hold on as the stag grew more and more impatient. It wanted to go somewhere.

“Will. Can you hear me?”

“Where are we going?” Will murmured. The stag didn’t reply. He opened his eyes and saw pavement.

Frowning, he blinked. Where had the stag gone?

“Will?”

The cautious voice had him looking up; the realisation hit him like a tangible force, a physical presence. He stumbled, feeling shame and terror wash through him like a tidal wave, sending him sprawling.

“D- doctor Lecter, where… how am I here…?”

“You seem to have driven here.” Hannibal was wearing a plain dressing gown over plaid pyjamas; he reached forward and Will was shocked by the touch, startled by its realness. He jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, darting away.

“Wh- when did I, how- where _was_ I, and… Why am I on your _doorstep,_ when I did I get here and- did you see me arrive? What’s the date today?”

“Come inside, Will.” Hannibal stepped from the threshold of his home, and somehow Will was shocked by the sight of blue slippers. The idea that doctor Hannibal Lecter wore slippers seemed the most ridiculous thing imaginable. He stood there for a moment, staring at the dyed fabric.

“Will?”

“I can’t sleep.” The words were thrown from his mouth like someone had pulled them out; he paused after the fact, staring at Hannibal’s neutral eyes, and then he said it again, looking away quickly. “I can’t sleep.”

“Evidently so, dear Will.” Hannibal sighed, and offered his hand. “Come inside; if you are going to collapse, do warn me first.” He smiled tiredly, eyes crinkling. Will noticed his hair was slightly mussed, not finely styled as it usually was. Yet the man still seemed almost regal; his age gave him dignity. Status.

“What time is it?”

“Two- thirty- six AM.”

“Christ, I’m- I’m sorry Hannibal, I-”

“No need for apologies. Come, I have a spare bed.” He placed a determined, steady hand on Will’s shoulder. It seemed the only real thing, and Will couldn’t help but lean into the safety of that grip. He let himself be led into the warmth of the house, the yellow lights and the clean walls.

 

***

 

“What do you remember?”

Will looked around. He was sitting down now. In Hannibal’s living room?

“I remember…” He leaned forward, put his head in his hands. “I remember, I went to bed, I was dreaming, and then…”

“And then you were here?”

“Yes.” Will steadied himself on the arm of the couch. “Yes, I… When did we get to the living room? I thought…”

“You need to sleep, Will. You need to stop dreaming-”

“How?” Will found his fingers bunching in his own hair, the way he had gripped the stag’s fur, and he relished the sharp stab of pain in his scalp. It was real. “How do I stop?”

“There are many ways. I wouldn’t recommend medication, but have you attempted use of a sedative?”

“No, but…” At this point, he needed anything that could work.

 

***

 

“Lie down, Will.”

Now he was sitting on the edge of a bed. He looked down. He was wearing pyjamas. Not his own.

“Did you give these to me?” He took the bottom of the pyjama shirt in his fingers, gripped the hem of the shorts he was wearing, looking up at Hannibal with widening eyes. “When did I put these on?” His breath was starting to come too quickly; when had he left the living room? “How did I get here?”

“Your mind is racing, Will. You risk having an episode if you do not calm down.”

Hannibal calmly surveyed the man.

Will Graham was falling apart fast. His hair was a wild mess atop his pale, drawn-out face, dark bags under his eyes making him appear bruised. He seemed to be only half- awake; his breaths were racing but his gaze was unfocussed at times, darting around the room as if he were searching for something. He couldn’t sit still, his arms were moving, hands gripping at things, head twitching around as he tried to pull himself back from insanity.

“How did I get in here?”

“You and I had some tea, and then I gave you the clothes. You got dressed, and now you are here.”

“Why-” Will’s breaths were shallow, fast. His eyebrows canted upwards, terrified, eyes big and wet. “-why, why don’t I remember, _why-”_

“Shh, Will. Will.” He took hold of Will’s shoulders and forced him to be still; he lowered himself down before the terrified man, kneeling by the bedside as if to pray. Will still struggled, staring around, disorientated.

“Will-”

“What’s happening to me?” His voice rose, frightened; “ _Why can’t I remember?!”_

Seeing that Will was growing more panicked by the second, Hannibal took the man’s chin between his fingers and forced Will to meet his eyes.

“Will. Look at me. I need you to calm down.”

For a few more seconds of blind panic, Will continued to entertain the delusions of insanity- until his gaze finally settled on Hannibal and he at least seemed to recognise him at some level. Then, with a small groan as if he were on his deathbed, Will’s eyes rolled back into his head as he went completely limp, slumping as if all the life had left his body. Hannibal stood smoothly, and Will fell against him.

“Will Graham.”

The sound of his name had Will jerking his head sidewards, shoulder twitching in Hannibal’s hold. His eyes fluttered.

Perfectly calm, Hannibal checked Will’s pulse; it was steadying. He seemed to be over the episode. Hannibal laid his patient back onto the bed, amused to think that the only way Will seemed to able to go to sleep was to fall unconscious from psychological trauma. As there seemed to be nothing else for it but to make Will comfortable, Hannibal arranged Will on his side- so that, should he vomit, he wouldn’t die of suffocation- and laid the blankets over him. After a second of deliberation, he replaced the doona with sheets; Will was running hot. It wouldn’t do for him to overheat.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn’t move.

There was nothing to scare him, nothing to make him so terrified, no reason to run or struggle; there was no logical reason for his muscles to be taut as metal wires, for his jaw to be clenched so tightly he was sure he’d never breathe properly again, for the most powerful soul-engulfing terror to be holding him skin tight.

He couldn’t scream. But he wanted to; in that moment, that was all he wanted.

Every passing beat of his frenzied heart, thumping as it had been soaked with poison, was striving to wake him from this purgatory of horror, this non-existent place that held him in an unbreakable grip, that was the worst nightmare- because he knew it wouldn’t go away when he awoke. He knew it would be there, behind his words, lurking in his mind’s eye, making him sweat when Jaw Crawford raised his voice, sniggering in his ears as he grew dizzy at a crime scene- it would mock him, tease him, tire him out so he would inevitably collapse when he just couldn’t take any more, and then _it would have him again-_ and he would be soaked through with sweat, his clothes would smell, he would gasp and retch and sit with his hands against his forehead as if he could bore out the fear behind his skull- and it would go on and on, again and again, night after night after fucking night, and this wasn’t the _first_ time he’d considered suicide, the thought was always there, always waiting for him, always a possibility- and, oh, what he would give for a moment of peace, even a _second_ of rest…

The glint of a gun shone against Will Graham’s teeth.

Then, he screamed.

 

***

 

Hannibal had been listening to small whimpers and husks of breath grow steadily louder as the minutes ticked by; he had considered crossing the hallway into the spare bedroom and waking Will, but he'd been waiting for the prime opportunity to pluck Will from his misery.

Then he heard the scream.

 

***

 

Will awoke curled in on himself, shaking; the sheets were a damp mess around him, and his shirt was practically dripping. He pawed at his face, fingers trembling against his lips as he took several horrified breaths. His eyes closed, and he tried to forget the sound of a gunshot; he was sure he was dead. He’d felt the gun in his hands, tasted the metallic tang against his tongue- it had been so _real-_

“Will?”

The sound of another human was such a shock that Will recoiled, flinching backwards, hunching into the foetal position again.

“Will.” Footsteps approached, and suddenly there was a mercifully cool hand on Will’s shoulder. At first he was shocked; he twitched at the touch, but soon relaxed into the appallingly sodden bed.

“Hannibal.” It wasn’t as much a question as a statement of fact. Will was mortified by how small and pathetic his voice sounded; he licked his lips, tasted salt from his sweat, and curled his arms around himself and gripped his shoulders. “What time is it?”

“Midnight.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

Will nodded. His heart was beating sluggishly now, and his body no longer felt like it was on fire; he was cooling down, and his sweat was beginning to feel freezing. He untangled his arms and lifted himself, opening his eyes and discovering he was facing the wall. Will glanced behind him at where Hannibal stood, as expressionless as ever.

“I’m keeping you awake again.” Will turned away, reaching back to pull off his shirt.

“I’m concerned, Will. Not annoyed.” Hannibal, despite the specific brand of professionalism which he consistently tried to apply to every aspect of life, found his eyes drawn to Will’s bare back. There was a scar below his left shoulder. A stab wound. He tilted his head slightly, fascinated by the way that light travelled over the surface of skin.

Will threw the shirt onto the edge of the bed and lay down again, drawing the sheets around himself like a shield- with some difficulty, as the fabric was wet with his sweat. He was still shaking slightly in the semi-dark of the room.

With a small sigh, Hannibal slowly sat on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands on his knee and gazed at Will’s black curls of hair, glistening with sweat.

“What do you dream about, Will?”

Will drew a thoughtful, and frightened, breath. “Fear.”

“What do you fear?”

“I… don’t… I’m. I’m just so _scared._ I see things, and the things I see are…” He was whispering, and the genuine terror in his voice amazed Hannibal. It was purely the making of his mind; no one else could truly claim responsibility for such a toll on such a person’s brain. Oh, a lifetime of interactions and loneliness, yes- but Will Graham’s mind games were something else. He was running rings around himself. His genius, his empathic nature, was so exquisite. Hannibal smiled.

“Your fear is taking you over, yes? You feel it all the time, even when there is no reason to. What do you fear, Will?”

“The violence of it.” Will hunched in on himself.

“A normal person might fear the violence in relation to their own safety.”

Will laughed brokenly. “Are you saying I’m abnormal?”

“No. I’m simply separating you from the masses. Why do you fear the violence of your own mind?”

“I…”

Hannibal already knew the answer. “Do you question what you yourself are capable of? Does the violence  scare you because you _are_ the killer, in your vivid dreams?”

“Not… Not now.”

 _Curious._ “What does that mean, Will?”

“It’s changed. It’s changed. I’m- I’m not the killer, I’m not the victim, but…”

There was a stretch of silence- or, there was a period where no one spoke. It was not silent. Will’s short, sharp breaths cut the air, tempered with Hannibal’s calm inhalations.

“I thought…” Will was on the brink of tears, suddenly; his voice caught, and he took a quick, darting breath. “I thought…”

Hannibal blinked calmly in the dim room, eyes drawn to Will’s shaking shoulder. “What did you think, Will?”

“I thought about killing myself.”

That was not what Hannibal had expected to hear.

“I just… I want it all to be over, I just want one _second_ where I’m not… _terrified_ of _everything_ , and…” Will’s breath caught and he choked; he could say no more. Hannibal did not ask him to.

Slowly, with the deliberation of someone still making a decision, Hannibal reached over and placed his hand on where the sheets clung to the shape of Will’s arm.

“Is there anything I can do to help you, Will?”

There was a small sniff, and the sound of Will shaking his head.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

There was a pause.

“Could you..." Will cleared his throat, his voice small and hesitant. “...A while ago, you mentioned, that you'd... That offer, does it still stand?”

It took a moment for Hannibal to recall what offer Will was referring to; then, he remembered. He had offered to keep Will warm at night in a bid to stop the nightmares.

“Yes.” His hand was still on Will’s shoulder. This was ideal. He had been eager to establish a trusted position in Will’s life, but this was more than perfect. Should he be able to make Will rely on him… well, he’d be capable of anything.

There was another sniff, and the husk of a laugh. Will reached up to wipe his face. “Not very professional of me, is it? To ask you something like that.”

“We are colleges, but we are also friends- and I am worried about you, Will. And I will help you, if I can. In any way you need.” Hannibal inhaled, letting Will’s fearful aroma fill his senses, allowing his eyes close for a moment; the fire within was dull but there, and he needed to control it. This night could only be about Will. He truly was dealing with fine china; if he wanted Will to trust him, he had to appear utterly selfless.

Will had quieted again.

Hannibal squeezed Will’s arm gently. The shape of it was lovely. “What do you need?”

Will’s body shook with a supressed sob. “I- I just want to sleep.”

“I know.” Hannibal allowed the sound of a smile to leak into his voice. “What do you want me to do?”

Will laughed nervously, with uneasy amusement. He wiped at his face again, the sheet rustling as he moved his arm; Hannibal lifted his hand, rested it on Will’s back.

“Well, you’re the doctor. What do you think will… help?”

“Orgasm may help you reach a deeper sleep, but that would require your trust in me. Do you trust me, Will?”

There was, as Hannibal had expected there would be, a second of thought before Will answered.

“I trust you.”

Hannibal smiled.

_Ideal._

He reached up to undo his shirt buttons; skin-on-skin contact would keep Will warm- and, besides, Will had been deprived of physical human contact for longer than was healthy. Hannibal discarded his shirt beside the bed and lifted the sheets to lay beside Will. The instant Will felt Hannibal lie behind him, he tensed up and stopped breathing entirely.

“There will be nothing I can do for you if you do not trust me, Will.” Hannibal let some gentle amusement into his words as he laid his head on the pillow. He could feel Will’s body heat, but he did not touch him yet. “I cannot help you if you do not allow me to.”

Will let out a long breath- it stuttered when he felt Hannibal’s hand press against his back, but he didn’t voice any concerns.

“It’s been a long time, since…” Will swallowed, voice trailing off as Hannibal’s hand crept around his ribs to rest against his sternum; Hannibal used the hold to pull Will closer to him, and Will hunched his shoulders in surprise when he felt Hannibal’s warm skin pressed against his back.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Will.” Hannibal reminded him softly, closing his eyes and inhaling quietly against Will’s hair. He began to gently draw circles on Will’s chest.

“I- I know.”

“This can stop at any time.” Hannibal reminded him, fully aware a man like Will could not refuse at this point. He drew his fingertips softly down Will’s chest, imagined a blade in his hand.

_Elegant._

“You… you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Hannibal’s fingers stilled on Will’s chest; he’d expected the request, and was annoyed to find himself stung by the appeal.

“Of course not, Will. This will be our secret.”

Will let out a breath, and his shoulders relaxed from their hunched position; Hannibal felt the muscles of the man’s back roll against him, and he silently voiced his appreciation- Will was simply a school teacher, but he kept himself in shape. That was something Hannibal could respect.

“It is good to see that, even if you are not able to take care of your mind, that you take care of your body.” Hannibal flattened his palm against Will’s flat bellybutton and crept his hands towards the waistband of the shorts he had loaned him. A shame they should be soiled.

Will realised where Hannibal’s hands were wandering; he gave a small, hurried inhalation, freezing into stillness again.

“You need to relax.” Hannibal reminded him slowly- and, without any more hesitation, he moved his fingers down to gently caress where Will’s shorts were tightest. He smiled to himself; Will really _had_ been without contact for too long, if he was so excited so quickly.

“R-relax.” Will nodded almost spastically.

Hannibal chuckled, and confidently, deftly, and without hesitation, slid his fingers below the strictures of the shorts- he closed his eyes as Will’s gasp of surprise hit the air.

This was _perfect._

This would always be his, now; this part of time, these moments, strung together like sinew and strips of fat between flesh- Will Graham was exposed, and the most intimate part of his mind was now laid bare. No one else had been able to get this close; Will would remember this for days, weeks, _months-_ he was chaste, had been for too long, and now Hannibal could exploit such purity. He could use it. Will would want him to- Will would, in time, _beg_ him to.

Hannibal had never seduced his victims. Sheep were not worthy of his hands, his touch, his physical affection; one more elevated, one more graceful, one more like him, would be deserving of such treatment. There had been few he had deemed worthy of his body, let alone his mind; Will had already proved himself a match for the latter.

Will was magnificent.

His body was lithe, slender, a product of Will’s disregard to his health- but he was also _wiry,_ with muscle enough that Hannibal’s spare hand was transfixed by the gentle slopes and rises, fascinated by the way the muscles contracted and grew tense at his touch. For the first time, as he lay there listening to Will grow steadily more frantic, Hannibal could not envision a victim. He calmly mapped out Will’s body, all the flesh and bone in front of him, fingers dancing over the man’s back.

He could not envision a meal of this body.

Will Graham was no sheep; he wasn’t meant to be cut up and made into art. His body was lovely, yes- but it was his _mind,_ functioning and alive, that made him so perfect. A complete empath. Hypersensitive to the emotions of others, utterly disregarding of his own welfare in the face of other people’s need. Hannibal felt a pull of disgust in his stomach as he thought of the pathetic Jack Crawford and how he demanded Will be at his mercy. He didn’t deserve to manipulate someone so gifted. Hannibal knew no one worthy but himself.

Actually... he hated Crawford. He was sure of it now, as he slid his hands over Will Graham’s body. The FBI investigator’s only charm was that he seemed to worship Hannibal’s precious food. Hannibal hummed to himself; he could imagine that man on a plate. He’d taste fatty, disgusting; he’d be a trial to make into art. Hannibal would accept the challenge with pleasure.

“Hannibal.” The whisper yanked him out of his reverie; he smiled against Will’s neck, tasting salty sweat. He darted his tongue out to savour the flavour.

“Hannibal…!”

“Just relax, Will.”

“Just… ah, Hannibal- nn-” Will tried to hold back a moan, but it came out as a squeak instead. “ _Hannibal…!”_

“Shh.”

This was perfect for the plan, but Hannibal was not thinking of the plan; when Will’s breaths became gasps, when his gasps became moans, and eventually when Will was rocking his hips and whispering, ‘please, please- God, Hannibal, _please-”_ , Hannibal was not thinking about seeing Will in a cold prison cell- he was thinking of how Will would dream and how Will would need more and how he would kneel, how he would pull himself deeper- Hannibal was not thinking, he was not rationalising. He was whispering, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay…”, one arm wrapped around Will to keep him close, the other making the man come apart in pieces. He was not the Chesapeake Ripper. He was not Hannibal Lecter, the man with a secret. He was a friend.

He was Will Graham’s friend.

“Hannibal, h- hannib-” Will was choking on his words, practically gagging, skin glistening and back quivering against Hannibal’s chest.

“Will.” He was nameless; he was a whisper, he was the body behind Will, he was all he allowed himself to be in this room tonight. He lifted his chin into Will’s trembling shoulder, closed his eyes. “Shh, Will, it’s okay.”

Will’s body stilled, rigid, his mouth open in a silent moan- and, for a moment, the world was still. It lasted an eternity.

Then he cried out, arching his head backwards. Hannibal didn’t even have the mind to be irritated when his fingers were coated with salty liquid; his eyes were still closed, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips as he listened to Will gasp and moan his way towards his finish.

It should’ve been demoralising, humiliating- Hannibal Lecter, reduced to no more than bone and blood and flesh and coursing emotion, diminished to nothing more than what he shared with this mortal. He should’ve been disgusted.

As it was, he simply kissed Will’s shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

After Hannibal woke, he washed his hands, disgust making his lips twitch up into a snarl at the repulsive, sticky liquid that had made the skin of his hands tacky and crinkled in the creases of his fingers and palms.

Filthy.

He’d felt almost serene when he had woken up, his arm around Will’s soft, warm body, dragged from sleep by puffs of air against his face; Will had turned in the night, and his open mouth was centimetres from Hannibal’s. It had occurred to Hannibal, then, that they had not yet kissed- and he had felt an impulse to press his mouth against those dry lips, a need to wet that chapped mouth with his tongue. He had imagined Will’s eyes opening slowly, eyelashes long, the small moan of surprise that would build in Will’s throat and fill Hannibal’s mouth-

Then he had flexed his hands and felt the revolting fluid on his skin. The spell had ended, and Will had given a small sigh as Hannibal had removed his arm from around him, escaping the bed as revulsion built in his throat. Will did look appealing, splayed out, so vulnerable and unconscious… but there was no appeal in contamination, in _germs_. Hannibal was sickened.

Now he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, eyes boring into his reflection. He’d never feared his own gaze; he was always sure of what he would find there.

That was a sureness he did not now have.

_“Hannibal…!”_

God, he’d been foolish. What was this newfound pleasure he gleaned from Will’s body?

Hannibal had never understood the lure of sex. While always able to invite the attention and attraction of others- when such manipulation was required- Hannibal found the act of intercourse itself hideous. A mind-numbing deed of copulation, a dulling of higher brain function purely for the chemical gratification that humanity could find in rutting mindlessly into flesh. Pathetic. Sex was one of the things that had helped him to realise that humans were simply apes that had learned to wear clothes, their cave-man nature revealed like a hideous disease when they shed their clothing.

For a while, a short while, he had thought of sex as beautiful; the climax of the body and the soul, rising like a crescendo, the surging of emotion and chemicals beneath the skin- but Hannibal had been young and eager to find beauty in a world he had previously thought to be ugly and cruel. Since then, since that period of youthful delusion, he had never found a partner that could invoke such sexuality in him.

Hannibal’s hands, rubbing and washing and massaging semen out of his skin under the running tap, paused, lathered with soap. A thought occurred to him. It laced itself under his thoughts, in his brain, seeping like some kind of delicious poison-

_Will isn’t like them._

Of course he wasn’t. That much had always been obvious.

_But…_

Hannibal’s thoughts ticked, churned, mind humming like the efficient machine of the most hated predator. He lifted his hands from the water and brought them to his face, breathing in deeply- but Will’s smell was gone.

 _Perhaps Will’s mark is not so hideous as the rest._ He rolled the thought over in his mind, and continued to wash his hands. _Will’s scent. Will’s seed._

_Perhaps, in allowing him to mark me, I can mark him in ways he will not be able to comprehend._

***

 

Will’s sleep was so deep he thought he might’ve died.

When he eventually opened his eyes, his mind was empty. He was floating, senseless, meaningless. Without thought. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the nothingness; he hadn’t dreamed at all. For the first time in forever, he had slept like a baby.

Then his eyes opened as he remembered _why._

He rolled over, wincing at the sticky moisture in his pants, and stared for a moment at the empty space beside him.

_“This can stop at any time.”_

_“You… you won’t tell anyone, will you?”_

_“Of course not, Will. This will be our secret.”_

His mouth went parchment dry as the night returned to him in flashes; Hannibal’s hands on him, Hannibal’s body beside him, Hannibal’s voice in his ear- the heat tingling down his spine, his entire body more alive than he had been in years, the explosion of white and sound and _pleasure,_ before it had all faded. Will swallowed thickly, sitting up. Why had Hannibal agreed?

_“I will help you, if I can. In any way you need.”_

Will felt his stomach drop.

Did this make them lovers?

No, it didn’t. He knew that. Because Hannibal had not touched himself once; this night- much as the idea was weird and immoral and unethical- truly had been all about Will.

He shuddered as the memory of Hannibal’s warm breath tingled against his neck; he couldn’t believe he’d actually had the gall to ask Hannibal to do such a thing. More importantly, he would never have even considered that his friend- his _lover?!-_ would agree to it. His face flared hot, embarrassment tying a suffocating knot in his stomach as he remembered how he’d gasped and… moaned, and…

_Oh god._

Sliding his hands through his hair and taking several deliberately slow breaths in a futile attempt to calm himself, Will slung his legs off the side of the bed and stood slowly. He took a guilty moment to appreciate how well-rested he felt. It was almost strange. The spare bedroom before him was calm, still, so wonderfully _normal_ and devoid of hallucinations or the feeling that, if he took a step forward, he would fall into a pit and continue plummeting head over heel forever. The world seemed, for the first time in a long time, still and as it should’ve been. It had been years since Will had been able to find stability anywhere except the fields outside his house, when the fog turned his house into a boat.

The memory of the fact _Hannibal Lecter had given him the best handjob of his life and what the fuck was he going to do now_ sobered his thoughts and made him grimace and lower his head into his hands.

 

***

 

Hannibal pushed sausages and eggs around in a pan, watching the meat and the egg sizzle against the steaming surface.

He inhaled, and a smile touched on his lips; he would know that scent anywhere.

“Good morning, Will.”

Will took slow, silent steps into the kitchen. He was wary, embarrassed; he kept his eyes constantly moving around the room, frequenting the floor. Hannibal had to supress a smirk at the fact Will had thrown on the sweat-ruined shirt from the night before. He truly was a fine creature, yet he seemed to want to hide his beauty. Hannibal could not understand why.

Common decency seemed so outdated in the face of such physical splendour.

“Please.” He returned his attention to the food, knowing that Will was more likely to speak if no one was looking at him. “Speak your mind.”

“Are you in the habit of doing that with all your patients?”

Hannibal smiled, properly, glancing up at Will where he stood with his arms crossed. “You are not my patient, as you yourself have said before.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Will looked as if he were fixing to leave; it was amusing to think of him storming out still wearing the shorts he had come in the night before.

“No, I do not sleep with my patients.”

“We didn’t sleep together.”

Hannibal felt an irrational twinge of annoyance, though Will was obviously right. He sighed and put the stirring spoon down, bracing himself on the bench. He looked straight at Will and, for once, Will held his gaze. “I was simply helping out a friend. Did you sleep better?”

Will stared at him for a few more tense moments before he nodded, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and looking down in embarrassment.

“Do you regret it?” Will asked suddenly, glancing fearfully up at him before quickly looking away again.

“No.”

“What, do you-” Will’s face tightened in one of those peculiar grimaces he was wont to do, and he gestured in a frustrated manner before crossing his arms again. “- do you have _feelings_ for me, or…?”

“Not in the sense you imagine, I assure you.” Hannibal smiled, knowing Will wanted reassurance. “I am demisexual. Do you know what that means?”

Will frowned. “No.”

“I can only become sexually attracted to someone who I have a strong emotional bond to.”

Will nodded, then smiled uneasily. “And, do you… have a ‘strong emotional bond’ to me?”

Hannibal’s smile grew larger, but it took extra effort to do so; he’d been asking himself the same question. “No, Will. I am simply your friend... Tell me plainly- are you angry I did what you asked?”

Will lifted his hands and scrubbed his face with his palms, sighing. “No.” He admitted quietly, his voice muffled. “It worked, I mean… I haven’t slept so well since… for a long time.”

“I do not regret giving you what you needed, Will.” Hannibal picked up the spoon and moved the eggs and sausages around absentmindedly. They were nearly done. “Friends should help friends.”

Will laughed, hands dropping to his sides. He smiled, in that strange way that made him look as if the expression caused him physical pain. “I think what you did was above and beyond the call of _friendship,_ Hannibal.”

Hannibal chuckled. “Perhaps. Does this concern you?”

“Not… not overly, no.” Will sounded nervous again; when Hannibal looked up, he looked away.

“But you do wish that I keep this a secret?”

Will’s face became apologetic. “I-”

“It’s fine, Will. Breakfast?”

Will sighed. “Please.”

 

***

 

Will ate ravenously, as if he had been starved. Hannibal kept his eyes trained low on his own plate, not daring to look up and risk seeing his beautifully crafted meal cross those moist, infuriatingly arousing lips. He couldn’t stand it. Not that it mattered; Will was staring about the room in a lost, delirious manner, nervously analysing everything that wasn’t Hannibal himself.

“Thank you, Hannibal.” Will had already finished. He sat still, staring off to the side. “I’m… grateful. For what you’ve done.”

Hannibal barely repressed laughter.

“You’re welcome, Will.”

Hannibal smiled into his cup.

He would have ample time and space to explore his own dilemmas. And the perfect victim to sacrifice when he was done.


	4. Chapter 4

He rolled over with a cry, bundling sheets to his chest. The nightmare had been bad, but he couldn’t recall it properly; it faded from his mind like dripping grains of sand, leaving an empty, sick nausea in his stomach. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. Sins, swallowed deep; a crime. An offence, so hideous that he couldn’t remember. A nightmare he couldn’t face.

Will glazed his eyes over to a spot on his bedroom wall, the sky through his window too light for his slow, tired mind as it spun itself into crazed fever. The clock face protested that was nearly midday, but he was lost in his own head, and the sun burned. He felt as if he might fly apart, cease to exist; he wrapped his arms around himself, but still felt as if his chest were an empty, echoing cavity. He was fragmenting. Hannibal’s smell was on his hands. He was a broken vessel of human organs, and the Earth was molten time stretching on a rack. He was just another crazed mind, nothing more than his overwrought brain, nothing more than neurons and electrical signals- he was nothing, and he was everything, and his life blurred and collided and swam in his mind’s eye as his head pounded. He was Will Graham- but why did that matter? There was billions of humans, billions of lives occurring at that very moment, billions of hearts beating- why did it matter that his heart beat too? He had once been told that every person ends up as stories in the end. And his life was tied to so few stories. None of his teachers would ever remember the lost boy with the big eyes who they taught for a handful of weeks before he disappeared again. None of his past lovers would care enough to not delete his number. None of his friends ever called because he had no friends.

But he could feel the fabric of an expensive suit under his hands, and could see Hannibal’s smile; he ran his fingers over his sheets, imagining touching a shoulder, a chest, a knee- would Hannibal remember him?

Will’s sensory recall had always been superb. It was his nature- sometimes, he thought it was more than that. He could smell Hannibal’s cologne, see Hannibal standing in his bedroom with a glass bottle of the expensive stuff, visualise him tightening his tie and inspecting his image in the mirror, face turning to the side- Will had never been into Hannibal’s bedroom but he was there now and it was so _real._ Will’s eyes closed, mouth opening, as he imagined the way light would fall against Hannibal’s cheekbone as his neck craned, eyes half-lidded as he regarded his reflection. The room was real, Will’s bed was gone- and he stood there, hands hanging at his sides, and the floor was warm beneath his feet.

_Who am I, to him?_

Will was only alive in other people- in other people’s memories, when he took their place as the killer and the rapist, in other people’s lives when he passed through their days as a lonely teacher or a college, always on the fringe and never loved, never understood. A circus freak. An oddity with pretty eyes and curls.

Hannibal tucked in his shirt and patted at his hips, inspecting the fabric. Will stepped closer.

_Who am I to him? Who am I?_

Hannibal turned towards him, and Will forgot to be surprised.

He had always been in the background, forgotten, the subject of speculation and interest but never affection or care. His lovers were selfish, worshipping his body but mocking his mind and staring with cruel, judgemental eyes when he awoke, gasping in the night. Well- maybe they weren’t selfish, maybe it was just human. Just natural to want to avoid that kind of insanity. He felt alone. He had always felt alone.

Then Hannibal smiled, widely, and Will felt different.

The imagining had become a dream, an unreality, and strange music hummed in his consciousness as Hannibal took his jaw in his hands and kissed him. Will’s eyes closed.

He went to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
